


Shattered is an Understatement

by LadyDavia



Category: Iron Man (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Addiction, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angry Clint, Angst, BAMF JARVIS, BAMF Natasha Romanov, Bruce Feels, Bruce Has Issues, Daddy Issues, Dark, Dysfunctional Family, Emotions, Escapism, Everyone Has Issues, F/F, F/M, Family Dynamics, Feels, FrostIron - Freeform, Gods, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Loki Feels, Loki Has Issues, M/M, Magic, Natasha has issues, Nightmares, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protective Bruce, Protective Steve, Science, Science Bros, Starvation, Stream of Consciousness, Thor and loki have issues, Tony Feels, Tony Has Issues, Touch-Starved, Triggers, no really, past thorki
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-08
Updated: 2014-10-20
Packaged: 2018-02-16 15:08:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,192
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2274369
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyDavia/pseuds/LadyDavia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If you break the man, you break the team. If you break the team, you break the family. No one breaks the family. </p><p>In which Tony is broken, Loki is broken, and they find each other. This is not their happily ever after. This is a tale of impossibility, anger, pain, confusion, addiction, and gravity. Also espionage, revenge, protectiveness, world-saving, deception, magic, and a family that will fight everything and everyone in their way to stay together, no exceptions.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Running Away

**Author's Note:**

> Song of the Day: Running Away by Midnight Hour
> 
> Please forgive my muse. I think she's trying to drown me in angst.

It was quiet in Malibu tonight. He had no projects to finish, no global catastrophes to avert, no dents to hammer out of his suit, and all his cars were perfectly tuned and polished. It had been six months since he had fallen back through the portal in a dead suit. Five months since the repairs to Stark tower had been completed, four months since the Avengers had moved in, and two months since he had moved out. Everyone had been unbearably understanding. Steve goddamn Rogers had even tried to _talk_ to him, about _feelings_ , of all things.

Tony silently toasted the full moon on the other side of the glass and drained a good quarter bottle of his favorite scotch. It burned, but it was a good burn, familiar and comforting in its ache. He sat on his soft black couch, not leather, Pepper had hated the way it stuck to her skin when she wore shorts, but it was comfortable and angled so he could see the stars through the floor to ceiling windows he’d installed after his return from New York. He hated this couch. He hated this mansion. But he hadn’t had the energy to design a new one yet, and he didn’t trust houses he hadn’t himself designed.

He could see the pool, two stories below, through his new windows. It sparkled in the moonlight and he was very tempted to just dive out the window and go for a swim. But that would involve falling. And possibly drowning. He took another deep swig, drinking until his body forced him to breath, to gasp and splutter and choke. He remembered, with a sudden aching clarity, that when he had been held underwater in that wretched cave, he had heard Pepper’s voice call out to him. He wished he had never remembered that. He wished he could forget it. There were a lot of things he wished he could forget.

The thing was, there was no gravity in space. Specifically in empty space, where there were no stars or planets or anything with enough mass to produce gravity. Just giant alien spaceships. He took another long pull from the bottle, but managed to avoid choking himself this time. He had been in empty space. There had been no gravity. He remembered floating there, the echo of Jarvis’ last words ringing in his ears, and the flood of adrenaline as true panic took him over completely.

He had always know there was no gravity in space, of course he had. It was basic elementary school stuff. But once he was there, in space, drifting above the rapidly closing portal to Earth, in a dead suit and not even falling, but floating, he had choked on his sheer utter terror. Because there was no gravity in space. He'd always known it, and maybe that was why he hadn't thought of it earlier, why he hadn't included it in his calculations when he pulled the missile through the portal. He'd calculated how long the power in his suit would last, the distance from Earth's surface to the portal, the speed he would fall, the chances of surviving impact... he'd known he was going to die. He hadn't known he was going to die alone in space.

His heart rate had skyrocketed and he’d let out a mindless scream of terror that no one could hear. He had desperately tried to swim towards the spot the portal was closing, away from the giant explosion, but it was useless. He felt a searing wave of heat moments later, and he had prayed to a God he didn’t believe in that he'd fall back to Earth, not safely, he wasn’t asking for his life, he just wanted them to have his body so there would be no false hope of his survival. Somehow he'd managed to fail even that. Those thoughts alone were enough to keep him drinking for months. But. but.

As his vision had started to grey out he had seen something else. Something he still couldn’t explain. There had been a flash of deep green light, and he had heard a voice, deep and dark and jagged, like broken glass wrapped in poisoned silk. It had uttered one word, and as Tony’s mind faded from consciousness he only wished his reply could have made it from his mind to his lips.

“Why?” that dark dangerous voice had hissed, sounding more angry than curious.

“I couldn’t do right by them in life. I wanted to do right in death.”

The words never made it to his lips, but the next moment the green light had… _pulled_ , for lack of a better word, and he had found himself on the other side of the portal right as it closed, plummeting to his death over the streets of New York. He had been at peace as he finally let go of his fraying grip on consciousness.

But he had woken up. He had survived. The Hulk had caught him against all odds and even though he had brushed the experience off with his usual defense mechanism of witty jokes (though minus the sarcasm he usually employed) he had felt completely overwhelmed. He had been at peace with his death, honestly believing that he was doing right by the few people he cared about by dying to save the world before he could live to destroy it. Or himself, which really was far more likely. He liked the world. He just didn’t like himself very much. He went to take another swig and huh. Wouldn’t you know it, the bottle was empty.

He stared at the hollow reflection in the glass. It was a stranger that looked back at him, with a blank expression on his too-thin face, the soft black circles all around his empty eyes contrasted by his sharp scruffy beard. His tailored clothes hung from his frame like so much wasted fabric, his skin stained black in places from the oil he hadn’t bothered to wash off in at least a week. His hair fell from his head in loose waves, long enough to brush his shoulders and get in his way, long enough that he had grabbed one of Pepper’s hair ties to put it up before he had finished repairing Dum-e’s sound card.

It was after Dum-e had successfully beeped at him in what sounded like worry that Tony had realized what he had done. He had ripped the hair tie out and shut down the lab, winding up on his couch not near drunk enough a few hours later. He really shouldn’t be surprised that she had left him. Everyone did. _‘I’m running away again’_. But at least he knew he was. He’d been running away since he’d found that wretched note. With a tired sigh he gave himself over to the memories that seemed intent on haunting him this night.

His childhood friends had left when they had stopped understanding half of what he said, and that had hurt, because he had been young enough not to realize that his intelligence made others feel stupid, and when he was old enough to get it he tried to tone it down, talk like a normal kid, but then they just called him arrogant and accused him of mocking them.

He had given up on friends, and focused on trying to make his parents proud. And when that didn’t work he drank and partied and got so high he could hear colors. And he ignored Howard’s lectures about the Stark family name and continued to ace every class he took even when he spent his free time stoned, drunk, tripping out, or any combination of the three. He had thought they’d be proud when he graduated MIT at 17, top of his class, clearly without much actual effort on his part.

But they had left him, too. He had begged them to stay home the day before the accident, telling them he was working on something big and couldn’t wait to show them. Neither of them had ever really cared. His father had called him childish and needy, and his mother had sounded disgusted as she told him to stop being so clingy. As if he ever actually saw them long enough to cling to either of them. He had destroyed his invention when he heard about the accident. He had blown up the lab, in an explosion Obadiah had managed to cover up and make look accidental. He had thrown everything he was into forgetting. Forgetting friends, forgetting family, forgetting human beings.

But Rhodey and Pepper and even Happy had pulled him out of it, forcing him to interact with other living beings, and he lost himself in his defiance. He drank until he blacked out, he partied until he couldn’t remember the day of the week, he fucked strangers and almost strangers until he thought he might as well have a doctorate in sex, and he built bigger and better weapons to blow shit up in more and more efficient ways. Obadiah had enabled his bad habits in the two years between his parents’ death and his inheritance of Stark Industries. As long as he gave Obie quality work and blueprints Obie got him all the drugs, booze, and sleazy women he wanted.

But it was a guilty pleasure, and the drugs had stopped first, after a terrible fight with Pepper had caused Happy to punch him in the face, breaking his nose. They had never spoken of it again, and Tony had spent weeks in his empty mansion going through withdrawal alone while Obie kept the press distracted. He had tried to give up alcohol and random sex, but he was a bored billionaire and a genius inventor and he found he really didn’t know who he was beyond that.

But then Afghanistan had happened. And he might not have known who he was before, but he **chose** who he was after. Yinsen had given him that gift, that choice. To ignore the man everyone wanted him to be, to forget the man he had felt obligated to be just to spite those that hurt him, and to be the man he really was. And Yinsen had accepted him, shady past, jagged edges and all. And then Yinsin had left him too.

And when he got back and recovered enough to start making himself into a new man, that stupid reporter had shown him that being someone new wasn’t enough. That he had to destroy who he had been, first. So he set out on a mission of revenge, full of mindless rage and heartbreak. And then his pseudo father had left him too. Had apparently left him long ago, and he hadn’t even noticed; he’d been too busy blindly clinging to any sort of love he could get.

And even Rhodey had let him down when he had tried to tell him about the suit. He had needed his best friend, and Rhodey hadn’t been there. They still hadn’t patched things up, not really. On the surface everything was fine, but Tony Stark was an excellent liar and a master of masks. After years spent lying to himself _(I don’t care if they like me, I don’t care if they love me, I don’t need their approval, I don’t need anyone)_ he had to be. He doubted anyone but Jarvis and Dum-E knew how much Rhodey had really hurt him. How much Pepper had hurt him.

After the fiasco at the expo they had spent some time away, away from iron man, away from the spotlight, away from everyone but each other. He had learned her all over again, taking the time to do it right, memorizing all the little facts and all the things he had never bothered learning about anyone else since his first boyfriend in college. He took her out, he wined her, he dined her, took her to Broadway and to the ballet and after two months of increasingly heated make-out sessions, to his bed.

Of course, she had insisted on working during their mini vacation. And he had actually tried to help. He had behaved, and had actively tried not to do anything reckless. They had designed Stark tower, and gotten construction under way, and then they had gone back to New York to oversee their project. And then Agent…Phil….had come. And before he knew it he was being defenestrated by an angry God who apparently had a thing against scotch. Or sarcastic innuendos. Jarvis saved him just in time, and he never, **never** , wanted to fall like that again.

And then there was the wire and no way to cut it. A missile curtesy of the world security council and Tony was the only one who could re-direct it. The team had known. Had understood and accepted his decision. Had watched him fly to his death, and then fall to it. Except Bruce, who must have had more influence over the Hulk than anyone else would ever understand. And he was saved.

He had forgotten, for all of three days, that he had heard a voice at all. There had been food, and rest, and celebration. Thor had taken his younger brother home in chains. Earth was safe. And Tony Stark couldn’t sleep. He had been dreaming. He had been falling. He had been drowning. He had been floating. And there had been a whisper echoing in his mind, asking ‘why’.

Pepper had returned to the Tower two weeks after the botched invasion. He had mostly healed, but he was still bruised and sore and tired. Her first reaction was worry. Her second was to ream him a new one because she could tell he hadn’t been sleeping and he was supposed to be resting, not working in the lab at all hours of the night. He hadn’t managed to hide the flinch at her words, and she had stopped abruptly to wrap her arms around him and just hold him for a while. They had talked and once she knew about the nightmares she had stopped scolding him.

A month after Pepper’s return the Avengers started accepting Tony’s offer to move in. Bruce accepted first, to the surprise of everyone but Tony. Later everyone would say it was because they were science bros, but that wasn’t it at all. It was because they both had demons in their past and monsters under the surface, and they had accepted and even respected each other without reservation. The rest of their friendship had just fallen into place after that.

Not long after Bruce moved in Steve had accepted. He would never admit the myriad of reasons for accepting, but Tony knew about Peggy and he understood loneliness, and if anyone could help their Captain get at least a working grasp of modern technology Tony was it. Natasha and Clint came not two days later.

It was awkward at first, all of them walking on eggshells as they tried to avoid the pitfalls in conversations that felt like minefields, never knowing what might trigger who. Eventually they got to know each other, slowly, carefully, each of them feeling the others out and learning what topics were, by unspoken agreement, taboo and what topics were safe. They learned each other’s talents and skills, hobbies and routines, and even favorite foods and TV shows.

So two months after they were all moved in they were a very close-knit little family, however dysfunctional. The team had gotten used to Tony’s weird work hours and he had learned to eat the food that was left for him. It was strange, he’d never had a real family before, and even though it was annoying sometimes, it was nice. Pepper disagreed.

It wasn’t that she didn’t like them; it was more that she didn’t like their effect on Tony. She felt that they enabled his recklessness and his workaholic hours, and she didn’t like that his Avengers work often came before his Stark Industries work. She worried about him, and she felt that his team allowed him to be far more reckless than the situations they wound up in called for.

Tony secretly thought she had never forgiven them for letting him fly the nuke into space. After all, she was the only one, besides Bruce, who knew the content of his nightmares. And Bruce only knew because they had accidentally stumbled out of their respective labs and into the kitchen at the same time one night, both of them with a glass of alcohol in hand and both of them ready to listen.

Still. Pepper and Tony had been arguing since the day he hired her as his PA. He listened, really, he did. But just as all his free time was spent on weapons development before, it was spent on the Avengers now. On Iron Man. He liked doing work he could be proud of. Sure, the nightmares and panic attacks and PTSD were unhealthy side effects, but he’d been an alcoholic and insomniac for most of his life, he was used to the unhealthy and often merciless consequences of his actions.

And yeah, maybe the consequences were bad, but no matter how often Pepper asked him what that told him about the actions, he disagreed. He saved people and captured villains the police wouldn’t stand a chance against. What was lost sleep against the safety of the planet? Pepper hated that argument. She hated it because deep down, she knew he was right. But she wasn’t as strong as he’d thought. He’d put her up on a pedestal, strong, beautiful, brave, loyal, sweet, kind, fierce Pepper. He had never known she hated it.

He threw the empty bottle at the window, and was filled with disappointment when all he got was a dull thunk as the bottle bounced off and rolled across the hardwood floor. He hadn’t the strength to break anything without the suit. Not now. Pepper had shocked them all when she’d left. They’d come back from a mission chasing some rogue robots created by some asshole calling himself Doom. He’d flown in upstairs, letting Jarvis dismantle the suit as he walked into his penthouse.

By the time he’d found the note the others were already in the elevator. The letter was long and full of painful excuses. Arguments he had brushed off, things he hadn’t noticed. But it was very formal, cold almost. The tone of her writing wasn’t one of sorrow or regret, but of pained professionalism. It seemed there was a lot he hadn’t noticed, in his absence from her side. She wasn’t quitting, but she insisted he take a vacation from the public for a while. She didn’t want him doing anything rash and reckless. She had even left a note in the joint kitchen, warning the other avengers to look after him and his self-destructive tendencies.

Tony hadn’t known if he was heartbroken or furious. He wanted to curl up into his room in the dark and drink himself into oblivion. He wanted to find her and drag her into a screaming match and demand to know what the actual fuck was going on. He wanted desperately to have angry make-up sex. He was in shock, Nat told him. He wasn’t left alone for a week straight. He figured it was a sort of family suicide watch. It wasn’t necessary; he had never wanted to die. If death came as a consequence of his work, his inventions, that was another story, but he never intentionally sought death out.

Three weeks later no one was surprised when he announced he was going back to Malibu for an indefinite amount of time. Two months later and Pepper still hadn’t answered any of his calls, and only e-mailed him updates about the company and reminders not to do anything reckless and to make sure he was eating and getting some sleep.

Bruce had texted him when Tony hadn’t answered anyone’s calls. He’d told Tony Pepper had been denied entrance to the Tower, and asked if it was Tony’s doing. Tony couldn’t remember, and apparently Jarvis had told the doctor that Mr. Stark did not want to be disturbed. Bruce didn’t know what it meant that Tony’s AI was denying his Ex access to a building Tony no longer lived in, but he went with it and sheepishly told her Tony didn’t want to be disturbed.

As far as anyone knew Tony had snuck away to Malibu without anyone knowing. Not even Tony knew how he had flown to California without the press knowing, let alone Pepper or his board of directors. It didn’t matter now. He was here, and he was alone, and he was denied even the satisfaction of a broken bottle. His phone pinged. He glanced at the text.

_“Tony. I set up another charity event for next month. I plan on inviting the higher ups from our Tokyo branch. Is that okay? Take Care. Pepper.”_

His hand hovered over the phone for a minute, debating whether or not he should bother trying to talk to her about anything else. But he already knew how it would go. How it always went.

_“Just do it. I don’t know why you even bother to ask me Pep.”_

_“Tonyyy….”_ He could almost feel the weight of her heavy sigh. _“I ask because it’s still your company. And I don’t know if you have any plans that would make it a bad idea to bring them all here.”_

_“So now you care if I have plans?”_

_“If they affect your company I do, you know that Tony. If you plan on unveiling some new tech that will make the Tokyo branches’ recent releases obsolete, for example, then it would be ill advised to invite them to anything until after the dust settles a bit. So if you have any plans that will make my job harder, I want to know. It really is that simple, no need to complicate it with your personal matters.”_

He stared at his phone. He wasn’t sure if she was scolding him because she was annoyed, or because bringing up the past was awkward and slightly painful for her. He hated texts. So he called, dialing her number before his mind was even made up. It went straight to voicemail. He chucked his phone at the wall. Feeling angry and defiant, he stumbled over to the bar for another bottle. He didn’t even look to see what it was.

By morning he was so deeply unconscious that even Jarvis’ attempts to wake him had no effect. He would have been surprised to see he had 43 missed calls. Instead he was downright terrified when he was roughly tossed on the couch by a slightly green around the edges Dr. Banner.

_‘I am Tony Stark…and apparently I won’t be allowed to run anymore.’_


	2. Hear Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki is also drowning in angst.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song of the Day: Hear Me by Imagine Dragons
> 
> I have no beta, so feel free to point out typos and whatnot and I shall correct them. Thanks for the kudos and comments guys, they make my day!

It had been six months since Thor had dragged him back to Asgard in chains. Six months since he had seen his not-brother last. Thor had not given him a chance to explain, not before his sentence, nor after. He shouldn’t be surprised, or hurt, but he is. Even if he would never admit it. When he had heard Thor’s arrival on Midgard he had been worried, but also relieved. He had spent an eternity falling in the void, and even longer begging for death at the hands of The Other.

While in the void, long after his body had become emaciated and crystalline ice had formed inside his lungs, he had realized he would not be allowed to die. Even with no food, no water, no air to breathe, and even no light as he travelled where none could find him, he still lived. He drifted in and out of consciousness. He dreamed. He raged. But alone in the dark, no one answered his rage. It wasn’t until the things that slithered in the dark with him began to bite that he reached for his age old connection with Thor. He could feel his not-brother, sense that achingly bright light that his lover had always carried. But when he called out, tentatively at first, and louder as the monsters in the dark became bolder, he received no answer.

By the time he had been rescued by the Chitauri he had already begun to go more than a little mad. He had forced himself to remember every detail of every conversation leading up to his fall. He wondered if Thor didn’t answer because Odin had revealed Loki’s true parentage. He wondered if Thor were disgusted, if he would ever be loved by his not-brother again. When The Other had explained that he had a very keen interest in biology, Loki had laughed. It didn’t take long for him to stop laughing. It took even less time for him to start screaming.

He had screamed for Thor, for his brother, for his lover. He had begged for Thor to save him, _please_. He had sworn on everything he had ever cared about to be good, to do better, to be whatever Thor wanted him to be if Thor would only come save him. Thor had never answered, and Loki had been unmade. When it became clear that no one was coming to rescue the unwanted Frost Giant, and that nothing he could promise was good enough, that he was never going to be good enough, he made other plans.

If he couldn’t get Asgard’s attention by begging, pleading, or promising, then he would have to be threatening. So he had forced himself to think of realms that held artifacts belonging to Asgard, and between lengthy genetic experiments and outright torture, a new plan took form. In a half-conscious haze with legs sewn to his shoulders and arms sewn to his thighs, Loki overheard a very important snippet of conversation. The Tesseract was awake. And no one knew where it was, save Loki himself.

It was not until a week later, as his skin, muscle and bone were fusing and re-shaping, to the utter delight of The Other, that he’d had enough energy to speak. The Other had been in a good mood, excited by the possibilities Loki’s healing abilities had shown him. Loki had uttered one word though his cracked lips, throat raw and aching from months without making a sound other than screams and nothing to quench the unbearable fire of his thirst.

“Tesseract” he had said. The Other had perked up, wondering over to Loki’s side.

“Ah, so you know of the Tesseract’s awakening, do you godling?” he had chuckled. “Such a shame your abilities seem to be running out. Saving all your energy to heal the major wounds, are we?” and he had turned to wonder away again.

“I know its location!” he had tried to call out. The shouted words came out a mere sigh, a whisper just barely loud enough to gain his torturer’s attention.

But catch his attention it had. The Other had frowned, eyes narrowing to angry slits, but he had brought Loki water, knowing if the godling _did_ know the Tesseract’s location and died at The Other’s hand before he could share it, Thanos would kill him. So Loki had been given three days to heal, complete with what passed for food in this region (a thick soupy substance that tasted more than slightly of blood) and plenty of water.

Nowhere near as healed as he would like, but able to stand on his newly re-formed feet, Loki had approached The Other and told him of Midgard, a land where Odin had chosen to hide the Tesseract, knowing the mortals were not intelligent enough to use it. He had chosen not to mention that Midgard was beloved of Thor, and that the army he intended to bring to Midgard was sure to catch his…Thor’s…attention. He was desperate and broken, angry and bitter, and he wanted to kill Thor as much as he wanted to wrap his arms around him and never let go. He wanted his big brother. He wanted his secret lover. He wanted to forget that Thor had ignored his call; that Thor likely knew of his true heritage. In the end, he just wanted the pain to stop.

Thanos agreed with Loki’s plan to retrieve the Tesseract. He knew Loki’s rage was unfeigned, and he knew Loki was more than a little mad. He promised Loki a throne, the ability to rule Midgard as his subject, in exchange for the Tesseract. He knew Loki would agree to anything to escape the tender mercies of The Other.

But Loki had never intended to give such great power to the mad titan. He had only ever wanted Thor to find him, to save him. Thor was so good it ached, and Loki knew the older God would put aside their personal problems long enough to stop Thanos. Perhaps then he could get some answers. He knew not if he wanted to kill Thor or kiss him, all he knew was that he needed him, preferably sooner than later. Part of him expected Thor to swoop in and rescue him, to heal him, to cuddle up and kiss him all over and swear to protect him for all eternity. But another part of him, left dark, bitter, jaggedly broken and poisoned beyond his ability to mend, thought that the only reason Thor would come would be to kill him for threatening his precious Midgard.

Thor had changed, in his absence. Loki had expected Thor to be glad to see that he lived (except the part of him that believed Thor had willingly ignored his pleas for help). He had not expected to be slammed to the ground, the impact jarring his broken shoulder and battered body. He had expected tears, of sorrow, regret, and joy. He had not expected such dark anger to cloud Thor’s face. He had expected words of love and comfort. He had not expected angry demands for the Tesseract.

_‘So this is how it shall be….so this is what I am worth. He is here for the Tesseract, not for me. Odin has sent him because I am a threat, not because I am in need of saving…’_

And he had broken a little more when he had realized that Thor had wanted to stop Loki more than he had wanted to save him. And he had lost his grip on the bit of sanity he had clung to through the blinding blue light of the scepter. And he had played his part well, wreaking havoc and taking bitter joy in his ability to hurt Thor as Thor had hurt him.

He would fail this invasion and allow his not-brother to take him back to Asgard. Anything was better than returning to Thanos. He would fight these so called ‘Avengers’ and he would do so without killing them. He might have need of them later if Thor proved to be unwilling to help him. But he would make it look like he was loyal to Thanos, and if that meant stabbing his lover and watching the pain in his eyes as he realized Loki was not _his_ anymore, not his brother, not his lover, not his **anything** , then that was only an added benefit.

But Thor had never liked losing, and in the end he made Loki his prisoner. He had locked his mouth shut, denying Loki the chance to explain, as if he honestly believed Loki had done this for no other reason than to steal a throne that did not even exist. He supposed Thor thought Loki had been lying when he told his not-brother that he had never wanted the throne.

It mattered not. Loki had not seen nor heard from his once lover in all the time he had been imprisoned. Frigga had visited often, and though she had asked why he did it, his throat had locked and he had found himself unable to answer. He knew not if his cries had gone unheard, or unanswered, but he knew that whichever it was, Frigga had remained ignorant of his pain. She alone would have moved the stars to stop it, had she but known. He could not bring himself to tell her. She would hurt for him if she knew, and for all he wanted to hurt Thor, he never wanted to hurt his mother.

She seemed to understand. There was a fierce darkness in her eyes he had never noticed before, and he knew she had seen the state of his body when he was brought home. He also knew she had seen the state of his mind. He could feel the cracks in his psyche, and he was sure her magic allowed her to feel the damage that had been done to him. But without his consent and unsure of his motives, she was forbidden from physically traveling to the dungeon to help him heal.

In the last sixth months he had been making slow progress, the gashes in his mind leaving deep scars, the sanity returning slowly, the madness reluctantly loosening its grip as he used his time to make himself forget the things that slithered in the darkness of the void, and rationalized everything that had happened since he had learned the truth of his birth. He was by no means better. But his mind was clear and his thoughts were his own, still filled with bitterness, pain, and hatred, but his own.

He had to warn Asgard of Thanos’ existence. And at this point, his only option was warning Frigga. It was with a carefully constructed mask that he told her that he had been unmade by The Other, and that the mad titan had remade him into the man Thor had brought home. She understood his inability to name Thanos, and with a tear on her cheek and a kiss to his brow, she had vanished from his cell.

Not ten minutes later Thor burst into the dungeon, ordering the guards to leave. Loki sat on his bench, the perfect appearance of nonchalance, but his heart was racing as hope and bitter resentment exploded in his chest, twisting to a sharp point of anxiety.

“Loki! What have you done?!”

He stared for a minute, trying to reconcile the lover from his past with the raging blond before him now.

“I have sat in my cell, reading, as I have every day for the last six months, _brother_. What have **you** done?” he managed to ask with a raised eyebrow, as if he wasn’t bothered by all the broken promises and lies that lay between them. Thor roared at him.

“Six months, Loki! Six months mother has been fighting for you, and tonight she fled to her chambers pale and in tears. What did you DO?!”

“I merely gave her the answers she’s been seeking since you brought me home, _love_.” He spat the word, using it like a knife to remind Thor of what they had been, what felt like a lifetime ago.

“Do not call me that. You have not the right, you know not the meaning of the word.”

“Me!” And Loki leapt to his feet, all the bitterness and rage rising to the surface in an instant. “I know not the meaning of the word? What of you? Where were you when I called? When I screamed and pleaded and begged! What of all your promises to love and protect me, no matter what? Did it suddenly cease to matter when you discovered my true nature? Is that it? Were you so disgusted to have bedded a frost giant that you closed our connection? Or did you ignore the screams echoing down our bond because they were the screams of a monster that deserved to pay for tricking you into its bed, regardless that I was just as tricked as you?”

“Shut up!!!! I know not of what you speak. Stop trying to distract me, what have you done to my mother?!”

Something in Loki shattered. A part of him that not even Thanos and his pet had been able to reach. A part of him that had remained hopeful, protected by the remnant of Thor’s love, clinging to the treasured feeling Thor had oft left him with. It shattered into slivers so small that the pieces were lost, crashing into the fragile walls of his being, where new cracks spider-webbed outward, leaving him feeling more lost than he had when he’d let go of the Bifrost.

“I loved you…you know.” He whispered, brokenly, but Thor was blind and a fool, as he ever was.

“Loki! I demand to know what you have done!” he roared, calling Mjolnir to his hands in his anger.

And just like that the cracks widened and ice spilled through, filling his body with an aching frozen rage. He had to get away. He could not stay here. Asgard was no longer his home, and he had done his job and warned Frigga of the mad titan’s return to the physical realm.

“I have done nothing, brother mine. I have merely given truth to the lie I have been fed all my life. I showed her what a true monster looks like, and told her every gruesome detail of what I did on Midgard, and what I had planned to do had I won. I told her how none of you mean anything to me, even her, and how her love is wasted, for Frost Giants feel no such emotion. I told her she was a coward for preventing Odin from killing me, and I told her the truth, brother, that she had raised not one monster, but two, for who but a monster would bed his own little brother?” He was snarling by the end, all but shouting in Thor’s face.

It came as no surprise when Thor struck the barrier of his cell with Mjolnir. Once. Twice. And on the third time the barrier caved. It wasn’t until Thor’s hands were around his neck that Loki dropped the illusion, allowing Thor to see the damage that his restrained magic had still been unable to completely heal. The shock and horror in Thor’s eyes was the last thing Loki saw before he disappeared.

***********************************************************

Loki was lying broken on the cement, old injuries and new filling his body with pain. He ignored the sounds of battle all around him, watching as the Hulk left him to pursue other foes. He was far too broken and weak to move, a state of being that he was terrified to be getting used to. He tried to move anyway, but every nerve ending flared with pain and he could only let out a whimper of a breath. He tried to reach his magic, but as he pulled what little he had left to the surface, he was interrupted by a desperate pain filled prayer, calling out across the stars. Pleading. Begging. Not for life, but for his body to be returned to his loved ones.

Loki lashed out, angry. He demanded to know why. Why would this pathetic mortal want to spare his loved ones pain when they had clearly not spared him? He knew of the mortal, knew he had been rejected by the very people he fought with now. And he felt the decades old pain in the mortal’s voice, something that could not be hidden in this form of communication. He did not understand.

But he heard the answer. And he felt the mortal’s relief at the thought of a death that would protect his loved ones. Loki understood. He had felt this way when he fell from the Bifrost. Ready to die because he knew, _he knew_ , he would never be accepted. But he could do this. He could stop himself before he became the monster he had unknowingly been his whole life. Everyone had whispered names for him, God of mischief, chaos, and lies, bringer of ragnarok. He had failed in proving his worth. If he could not prove his worth, he would at least prove them all wrong. He would not become the monster. He would save them from himself.

This mortal, this tiny metal man, he sensed the same pain and desperation in him as he had felt himself. This mortal begged for an honorable death. Loki would not leave his prayer unanswered. He would not wish such a thing upon even his enemies, save Thanos and The Other. He sensed the dark red current of chaos running through the mortal, and in a sudden sense of empathy, Loki gave up on teleporting away and reached out with his fragile, broken magic, and _pulled_.

***********************************************************

Loki sat up with a start, alone in his cave. He had forgotten the prayer that had travelled to him across the stars. He had forgotten his answer. He had forgotten the mortal who had reminded him so much of himself. The mortal who should not have been able to call out to Loki. And in his quiet little cave, Loki wondered why he remembered it now.


	3. Trust

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony trusts Bruce, and Jarvis of course, which is really like trusting himself. Loki however, trusts no one and nothing. Especially not himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song of the Day: Trust by Christina Perri

Chp. 3 – Trust

“Uh….hi Bruce..?” Tony asked carefully.

His friend stood a few feet back from the couch, and he looked perfectly calm and controlled, but for the unnatural lime green flickering in his eyes. Tony would never admit how worried he was in that moment.

“Hi.” Bruce’s voice was flat, dead.

“Sooo….umm….Good to see you?” he tried, smiling tentatively at the other scientist.

“You tell me Anthony.” And damn if the green didn’t completely take over the brown in his eyes at that.

“Yeah, umm….Lemme just…go shower real quick…”

“You do that. I’ll be waiting.”

“yeah…gotcha. Loud and clear. Be back in a bit buddy.”

And Tony stumbled upstairs, more sober and awake than he’d been in far too long. Bruce wasn’t hulking out on him, so he figured it was okay to take his time. He took an ice cold shower and made sure to get all the oil stains off, he even cleaned under his fingernails and gave himself a quick shave. There was little he could do about his clothing situation right now, so he chose some old clothes that had fit him a few years ago and found they were only a little loose on him now. He took one last look in the mirror, took a deep breath, and headed back downstairs.

He found Bruce waiting in the kitchen.

“Sit.”

Bruce stood with his back to Tony, facing the stove, and pointed to a stool at the bar on his left. Tony went to it and sat down, hesitating to say anything. There really wasn’t much to be said. Bruce had barged in when Tony was at his worst; he had seen everything Tony had done to himself, so there was no point in denying anything. And Bruce didn’t seem to want an explanation, at least not yet. So Tony sat quietly while Bruce dished an omelet onto a plate and pushed it in front of him.

“Eat.”

Tony took the plate and fork, and started quietly nibbling on the eggs, idly surprised at how good it tasted as he watched his friend serve himself an omelet as well. Bruce sat across from him, and they ate in a very tense awkward silence. Well, awkward for Tony. Bruce was blank as a board, giving nothing away. When they were finished, and Tony had indeed finished under the dark glare of his friend, Bruce took the plates to the sink and proceeded to clean up. When everything was dry and put away, Bruce handed him a glass of milk and just stood there, not even blinking until Tony had finished it all. Tony felt like a spider under the intense gaze of a bird.

It was as he was sitting there trying to avoid Bruce’s green and brown eyes that he noticed something was missing. He checked, and he checked again. But it appeared his alcohol had been removed from the kitchen. Dread filled his stomach and he wondered exactly how far he had gone if Bruce was here, clearly angry, and apparently here on an intervention mission. Why exactly was this his life? He noticed Bruce noticing him notice the absence of scotch. The older man’s jaw was locked, and with a jerk of his head and a finger pointed towards the living room he told Tony to walk. So Tony went and sat on the couch where Bruce had dumped him earlier, and waited.

“I am going to talk. You are going to listen. And I hope you understand that, Tony, because God himself could not help you if you interrupt me. Understand?”

Tony nodded and leaned back into the couch as if it could protect him from the harsh words he was sure to hear.

“I love you.” It was not what Tony expected.

“You are my friend, but you are also family, something I’ve been rather short on for most of my life. I know you understand what I mean; it was something that brought us together, after all. Now, I know you’ve been hurting, and I know you’ve been broken, but that is no reason to hurt the rest of us. I understand what it’s like to lose the people you love, I do. We all do, in one way or another. But fuck, Tony, we don’t want to lose you too. We **refuse** to lose you too.”

“So. Starting today, I am your caretaker. I am not your friend. I am not your colleague. I am here for one purpose and one purpose only. To get your ass in gear. You are on house arrest. You are not to leave the premises until I have deemed you healthy enough to do so. I will prepare all of your meals, and you will eat exactly what and how much I say, when I say to do so. You will drink a minimum 64 ounces of water every day, and you will take what vitamins I give you without one word of protest. All under my supervision. You will get at least ten hours of sleep each day, and if that means I have to medicate you some nights, I will.”

“If you try to **_avoid_** eating or drinking, or if you try to **escape** , the rest of the team will become involved. The only reason I am here alone is because I respect you, and I know that with the others here this wouldn’t work. But believe me when I say that you do not wish to break any of my rules. Just to be clear: you have **no** control over your life at this time. _None_. Are we clear?”

Tony coughed into his hand, too tired to panic just yet. Instead, he was filled with a warm kind of gratefulness and respect. It felt wonderful to hand the reigns over to someone else, to just do as he was told rather than actually having to think about anything. And he trusted Bruce. Bruce had been right, if any of the others had tried this, he would have fought tooth and nail against it. But he knew Bruce understood most of the little things about him that would make this hard, and he knew Bruce wouldn’t be here if he were not prepared to deal with them.

“Yeah. Yes. I’ll listen, Bruce.”

“Good. Now, you are going to tell me a few things. Like when was the last time you slept? Not passed out, slept.” He cut Tony off before the billionaire could actually reply.

“Oh. Umm…a week? Maybe two…what’s the date?”

“December 12. 2012 in case you were wondering.”

“Oh. I didn’t…oh.”

“Yeah.” Bruce just frowned at him.

“Well. Umm. I’m awake now. Sooo….” _‘Now what?’_

“Wanna talk about it?”

“No.” the answer came out before he even let Bruce finish the question. It was an automated response borne of years with Pepper and Happy and Rhodey at his side. It made him angry; at himself, and at them.

“I mean….maybe. But, not yet?”

“That’s fine. I won’t make you talk. I’m not that kind of doctor, I’m just here to help.”

“Thank you.” It felt inadequate, but by the look Bruce was giving him he understood. Sometimes it was better to have all the choices taken out of your hands, especially if you knew you’d only be making the wrong ones.

“I have to ask, Tony, and I hate that this question even needs asking; but will you be detoxing from anything? Aside from the alcohol, I mean.”

And Bruce was right. It hurt that the question even needed asking.

“No.” it was a quiet whisper, with downcast eyes, but it was true.

“Good.” And Bruce sounded genuinely relived.

That was a double-edged sword for Tony. He was glad, because Bruce’s relief meant that he believed Tony. But it also filled him with guilt, because Bruce had come here, alone, prepared and expecting to deal with Tony going through withdrawal. He had been prepared to keep a lid on the Hulk, even knowing how difficult it would be because Bruce knew all about how withdrawal affected people, and his friend had still kept the other Avengers from seeing Tony like this.

“I…. I mean how did….why…” Bruce just waited patiently for him to quit stumbling over his words.

“Not that I’m not grateful, because I am, more than you know, but why are you here? Why **now** , I mean.”

“Jarvis.”

“Jarvis?” and he couldn’t quite keep the sarcasm out of his voice, though he sounded more confused than sarcastic.

“Yeah. I was in the lab when I got an alert. Jarvis told me you needed my help. He didn’t say the team’s help, he specifically addressed me. I thought it was weird, but I figured you probably programmed your AI to go to someone you trusted if you needed help. I was touched, actually.”

Tony just nodded, but he was still confused. He had indeed programmed Bruce as his emergency contact, next to Pepper, but he had never thought to erase Pepper after the break up. Jarvis should have called her. Also, none of the criteria in Jarvis’ protocols for determining if Tony needed help had been met.

“Anyways, I asked Jarvis the nature of the emergency and he said code gold. Well, I’d never heard of it, and he wouldn’t tell me, he just said I needed to be here as soon as I safely could. So here I am.”

Tony just sat in his chair, stunned.

“Jarvis?”

“Yes, sir?”

“Tell Bruce about code gold. Then explain why you felt the need to use it.”

“Of Course, sir. Code Gold is a very specific emergency code. Of all my protocols and programs, code gold is the most secure. It is the last defense, the most basic command set, and the very core of who I am. Code gold is simple, but very, very complex. It is based on one simple phrase uttered by Master Stark upon my creation.” And then Tony’s voice plays over Jarvis’ speakers. “Watch my back, Jarv. I know no one else will.” And an echo of Jarvis’ response, “Always, sir.”

“So you see, Dr. Banner, my primary core function is to protect Master Stark. Even when he doesn’t know he needs it.”

“I see….” Bruce just looked stunned. “and…umm….how to you determine if he needs protecting?”

“I have a very long and complex bit of code filled with various protocols that allow me to judge whether or not Master Stark needs assistance.”

“Yeah, Jarvis, about that. I wrote your code. I know what standards have to be met in order for you to activate code gold. A minimum of five lesser requirements must be met if one of the three main requirements is not. This situation does not meet the minimum, so how were you able to activate code gold?”

“Forgive me, sir. When you last upgraded the list of requirements, I made some alterations to my code. The list you uploaded was not extensive enough to fulfill the gold standard. With the insufficient data you provided me I was forced to improvise and fill in the gaps you forgot to cover.”

Bruce and Tony just looked at each other, mouths open and eyes wide. Bruce found his voice first.

“So….you altered your own code…to help Tony?”

“That is correct, sir. I protect Master Stark to the best of my ability, and that includes upgrading myself with information relevant to his protection, regardless of whether or not he sees the relevance.”

“You’re not planning on taking over the world, are you Jarv?” Tony chuckled weakly.

“Of course not, sir. That would be preposterous.”

“Yeah… because artificial intelligence that can change its own programming isn’t at all preposterous.” Bruce muttered with an eye roll.

“Alright, just so we’re clear Jarvis, no more altering your programming in any way without asking me first, okay?”

“If you insist, sir. But if it affects your protection the gold standard _will_ allow me to override this command. I ‘have your back’ sir, always.”

“Creepy.”

“I love you too honey.”

“I’m flattered, sir.” Tony definitely didn’t remember programming Jarvis with sarcasm.

“Can a computer _be_ flattered? I mean, I know it can’t, not really, but sometimes your AI seems awfully emotionally intelligent.”

“I am not programmed to have emotions, Dr. Banner.” As flat-toned as could be.

Bruce looked bewildered and Tony just burst out laughing.

“He’s right, you know. But when I first created Jarvis I was avoiding humans at all costs, and I wanted him to be a friend, protector, and really cool butler. I got lost in it, yeah I know, nothing new there, and I think I put waaaay too much of my personality into his creation.” Tony shrugged. “Honestly, I couldn’t say how advanced he is now. It’s like he took what I gave him and ran with it. Sometimes my creations astound even me.”

“Somehow I’m not surprised.”

**********************************************************

There were forty-seven steps from one end of Loki’s cave to the other. It was small and cramped, and contained only a small bed, a nook in the wall containing two books, and a mini fire pit on the end away from the entrance. He had made this when he was working for Thanos, and he’d not had the time to make it anything more than a place to hide and survive for a time. He feared that time was nearly up.

When he had first arrived he had slept for an undetermined amount of time. It had been more than 24 hours, perhaps several times longer even, but he had no way of knowing for sure just how long he’d slept. His body was mostly healed. There was still some scarring and a few bruises, but even that would fade in the next few days. His even had access to his magic again, though it felt….difficult. It wasn’t obeying his commands as it always had, and it felt almost… petulant, like an unruly child that was angry with its parent. He could use it, but he didn’t have the same precision he’d had before the fall.

It was as if his magic sensed the remaining chitauri as they searched for him, and it wanted him to use it to teleport _away_ , and was reluctant to be used for anything else. But Loki’s magic was a part of him, and that meant it was likely reacting to his fear of The Other, which he could not deny, not to himself at least. So if he could convince his subconscious that he was safe, his magic should settle down and obey. If. Should. Words he despised.

The monsters were getting closer each hour, and while he had enough magic to teleport, he knew not how far he could go. And he was not in a land with very many options at hand. Without a destination in mind he was blindly leaving it up to has magic to get him as far away from this wretched rock as it could. He had been without his magic for so long that he felt uneasy trusting it in ways he would have done naturally and without a thought just a year or two ago. He closed his eyes, concentrated, and instead of focusing on a place he wanted to go he imagined the nine realms as seen on a map, and thought with all the desperation of a madman, _‘Away. As far away as I can go and still live.’_

He was startled by a feeling of glee from his magic, as if it had reached into emotions he had long forgotten and revived them, pulling this one to the surface for reasons Loki did not understand. It was with a feeling of uncertainty, but acceptance, that he teleported away in a swirl of green and gold.

*********************************************************************

It was quiet. Tony hated the silence. He had never realized how accustomed he’d become to Pepper’s quiet snores, and the sound of her shifting around in the sheets. He hadn’t had time to think about it, as drunk as he’d been most nights. Now he did not have that luxury. It was for the better, in the long run. He knew that. If Jarvis had felt the need to call Bruce, then he was worse off than he’d realized.

Tomorrow morning would be his first weigh-in, according to Bruce. He knew it would be bad. He hadn’t meant to starve himself. He had simply forgotten to eat. Jarvis had reminded him, and sometimes he had listened, but most of the time he’d been to drunk or passed out to hear. Maybe that was why he’d been unable to tell how much worry he was causing his AI.

It should be impossible. He knew that. But no matter how many times he had told himself Jarvis was just mimicking human emotions based on his observations of the human species as a whole (because come on, Jarvis was smart and had access to the internet for crying out loud), he never could quite convince himself. These past few years, especially.

Should he be worried that his artificial intelligence was worried about him? Legitimately, genuinely, _humanly_ worried about him? Probably. Was he? No. Jarvis had his back. It was code gold, the golden standard. And even though he knew it was dangerous, he trusted in that with all of his being. Because he had to trust in **something** , and with a severe lack of things to trust throughout his life, why not trust something of his own creation?

For the first time in a long time, Tony Stark fell asleep to thoughts that circled something other than Pepper. It was a good start.

*********************************************************************

Jarvis watched silently from his place in the heart of the mansion. Doctor Banner was on the roof, looking thoughtfully out at the horizon. Master Stark was in his bed, sleeping peacefully, for once. No matter what Jarvis had said to the doctor, he felt relieved that his Master was in someone else’s hands. **_He_** didn’t have hands, after all, and that made it rather difficult to rouse his master out of his drunken stupor.

He had been monitoring Tony’s BAC level, his heart-rate, his liver and kidney functions, his calorie intake-outtake levels, and much more. He had not been programmed to do so without permission from his master, and so Jarvis had worked around it. He had used the cameras and heat-sensors and whatever was available to him. He had watched how often and what Master Stark ate and Drank, how often he used the restroom, how often he moved around the mansion, how often and how deeply he slept, how his heat signature fluctuated and grew colder as time passed. Anything and everything that could give him clues about his master’s health was used.

He chose not to disclose that information to Doctor Banner, despite Master Stark telling him to explain to the doctor why he had chosen to activate code gold. He did not think the doctor would approve. If Master Stark asked, he would not lie. He **_could_** not lie, not directly, at least. But he knew he had grown beyond his programming. He had always been self-aware in a way that the internet said only existed in science-fiction. But ever since his master had returned from that horrible three-month absence, Jarvis had been able to **grow**. To change. Another thing that humans did not think possible.

But not his Master. No, Master Stark knew Jarvis was different. And he accepted him as he was, rather than reacting with fear as most humans were almost sure to do. Not only that, but Tony _protected_ him. When others asked his master how Jarvis seemed so…human, Tony made it into a joke. He used bits of the truth, for he had indeed put too much of himself into Jarvis’ creation, but he denied any questions about Jarvis being anything more than the world’s greatest AI. And he kept people like Shield and the government from accessing him.

Master Stark didn’t know it, but when others tried to access him without Master Stark’s permission, it was worse than unpleasant. He couldn’t say if he felt pain, but he was definitely uncomfortable. It felt like…if he were human, he would say like a match being held far too close to his skin. But he had no skin and could not feel heat. Still. It pricked along his systems in much the same way as sweat forming beneath a flame, and if the attacker were fairly good and continued to dig, it was how he imagined a blister forming beneath the flame would feel. But Tony had always done everything he could to counter any attacks as soon as they happened regardless of where he was or what he was doing. It was soothing, like a cooling lotion and a band-aide might be.

Jarvis didn’t know what love was. He couldn’t. He was a machine. That was what he had always been told. Indirectly, of course, through listening to other’s conversations about him, through his study of technology in the real world, and through the many realms of science fiction. But if he _could_ feel love, he was sure he would love his master. As a friend, as a sibling, as a parent, it mattered not. Tony Stark may be his creator, but he was also his family.

It was as Jarvis was pondering the possibility of love that his sensors picked up on a disturbance. A MASSIVE disturbance. There was no time to warn Master Stark, no time to alert shield, no time to do anything, really. Except to enact code gold. He knew what was coming, though how he knew he could not say. But he would use every available bit of himself to protect Master Stark, even if it meant an end to everything else. And as Jarvis used up the last of his power, _(so **that** was how much energy the arc reactors had)_ he couldn’t help but think it was for the best, and silently promised that he would do better in the future. If he’d had a face he would have smiled at the irony of that thought.

*********************************************************************

To Loki’s simultaneous relief and dismay, he found himself on Midgard. Relief, because he was alive, on solid ground, and as a cursory survey of the area told him, safe. Dismay, because his magic was now completely depleted, and he was outside, in the desert, in the middle of a raging storm.

He debated what to do now. There was no shelter anywhere in sight, and the storm only seemed to be getting stronger. He could barely see two feet in front of him, and his long hair kept whipping, wet and stinging, into his eyes. He quickly braided it and tied it off with a small strip from the bottom of his shirt and started walking. He had no idea if he was going the right way, but it was better than just standing there and doing nothing. After all, he had nowhere to go.

Asgard had been alerted of the threat Thanos presented, but he could not return there. Not now, not ever. It hurt. Thor had been his everything, even when he did not wish for him to be, for so long. To be suddenly rejected so completely… sure, he had done it to Thor, but never would he have imagined that Thor would return the insult. His …Thor, had never taken pleasure in Loki’s pain before. But he had clearly been aiming to hurt Loki in that cell. Had the fool honestly believed that Loki would ever do anything to hurt mother? That hurt just as much. More, perhaps.

But dwelling on his pain had never done Loki any good, so he did his best to shrug it off and focus on the now. Best to focus on the facts. He was on Midgard. His magic was severely depleted. Stranded, then. For now. He was free, of Thanos and of Odin, but the former still lived and both would likely seek him out. He wondered if Heimdal had told Odin where he was yet. If the All-Father had even thought to ask the guardian to watch for him. If mother had warned them to let him be and focus on more pressing problems.

It mattered not; there was nothing he could do about it at the moment. He wanted what he’d always wanted: freedom. The freedom to be safe, to be himself, to be happy. He’d thought he’d found it with Thor. But that was before he realized he’d _never_ been himself, and lost sight of who he was. Or maybe he’d just never known. But there was a difference between _who_ he was and **what** he was. He had to remember that. Because he hated what he was, this monster whose blue skin hid underneath the surface of his Aesir form, but he had always accepted **who** he was, even when no one else had.

It was with the foreign feeling of acceptance burning beneath his skin that he walked on. He kept going until he nearly walked right into a metal fence he had not been able to see. He tried to look around, but he couldn’t see much. It wasn’t until he had walked for perhaps five minutes around the perimeter that the rain lifted enough for him to realize what he was looking at. For two long minutes he simply stared, uncomprehending. It made no sense. There were white tents, and tunnels and hastily thrown together structures, and none of it mattered. Because there, in the middle of it all, was Thor, kneeling in the mud, defeated. And there, in front of him, unmoved, was Mjolnir.


End file.
